


Come Back

by caras_galadhon (Galadriel)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Character Study, Internal Monologue, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-04
Updated: 2004-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-08 18:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best comeback lines always occur after the fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Back

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://rohandove.livejournal.com/profile)[**rohandove**](http://rohandove.livejournal.com/). I still owe you B/F, but Faramir keeps refusing to do much more than stare at me, so in the meantime I hope this fills the void. (Sorry it's not more Jack than Daniel. I've noticed a distinct lack of straps, too. _*hanging head*_ )

The best lines always come to him in the smallest hours of night, when shapes blur, their edges sliding away into the darkness.

Better comebacks than the ones that trip off his tongue are always there, pushing against his teeth, demanding exit once the briefing has ended, the door has closed, the corridor has emptied.

Oh sure, he's earned a Doctorate in Dealing with Jack, become expert in irritation, made his way mimicking his movements, the tone of his voice. He's learned just how to lace sarcasm with sweetness, how to smile and get under his skin in one small breath. The look on Jack's face is payoff enough. The crinkle of his eyes, the wrinkle in his forehead, the thinning lips and inevitable headjerk all make Daniel's grin just that much wider, that much more genuine.

But the better lines -- the ones that will stop the jerking head, the derisive puff of breath -- live only after the fact, in the pauses between one moment and the next, elusive and useless, drawn back in the briefest of inhalations.

And the ones that will crystallize in that perfect moment of understanding, that will make Jack smile a secret smile in the broad light of day, the ones that Daniel waits on only come to him in the middle of the night.

His glasses are folded and placed safely on the nightstand. The lamp is off, the switch fumbled for, flipped once Daniel's fingers slipped, letting pages, photos, plans flutter to the floor like unseasonable snow. It's now -- eyes open to the dark, hands fisting the sheets, sweat pooling in the small of his back -- that the perfect lines come. But for all his preparation, for all his wanting and waiting, he can't make lips, teeth and tongue work to shape words, phrases, sentences. All that comes to Daniel -- sight blurred by sweat, night and genes, throat closed against sense -- all that escapes his lips are deep gasping breaths, guttural moans.

And he would feel shame in the dark, shame at the loss of letters, a blush spreading over his already flushed skin, if it weren't for that secret, quiet smile, the one he waits on, close-pressed against the nape of his neck.


End file.
